Classic Poem

'Twas told me by a Troubadour, a singer of Jebail,
Part prose, part song, on thrumming strings, this Oriental tale;
The bard had learned it from his sires with whom, with some arrears,
This story of King Solomon had lived three thousand years.
Around us the Fellaheen sat with flashing eyes and teeth,
And swore by Allah it was true, upon an Arab's faith!
I wrote it then and there, lest time the legend should efface,
And bring it accurately here, our interview to grace.

" Be not afraid of sudden fear! " thus Solomon did write;
" Thou shalt lie down in glorious rest, nor dread eternal night
Sound wisdom and discretion all thy busy life have blest,
And God is now thy confidence and thy eternal rest. "
For was not Hiram dying? was there not a wail of dread
Moving along the Tyrian shores, the palm trees overhead?
Therefore the Royal Comforter his words of parting said.

Then thrums my bard the strings;
His slave the coffee brings;
Each Fellah draws upon his pipe the while;
Till with my pencil swift
I catch the gusty drift,
And wait another portion to beguile.

On every mountain peak between Jerusalem and Tyre,
A sentinel was set alert, supplied with flag and fire,
Each facing to the Northward , where the dying monarch lay,
Prepared to pass the intelligence, who knows, by night or day;
And " death to him that slumbers, " the relentless Captains say!

The King on Sion waited, midst a bright and gallant throng,
Five thousand steeds begirt beneath five thousand horsemen strong;
Ten score and seven chariots, in gold and silk arrayed,
And twice twelve thousand footmen, armed with Hebrew spear and blade.
Oh, who, of all the sons of earth, in grace and glory can
Complete in royal pageantry with Melek Suleyman?

Tyeeb, Tyeeb , aloud
Screams forth the enraptured crowd;
The bard thrums all his strings in ecstacres;
While round the Hakeem stand
The wild and motley band,
And watch his pencil as it deftly flies.

Was it a meteor darting down from lofty Lebanon?
Was it the fox fire of the marsh that lures the traveler on?
Or meant that little flash to say, The Royal race is run?

The sentinel by Scandaroon a faithful vigil bore,
And with quick torch the message sent, King Hiram is no more!
While thunderous lamentation mocked the surges on the shore.

The sentinel at Nazareth took up the fatal word;
The sentinel on Carmel saw, and passed it to his lord;
A flash on Ebal followed, and high Gerizim replied,
And Bethel told to Sion of the Monarch who had died!
Oh, was there ever wisdom like the wisdom of the plan
By which, in thirteen seconds came the news to Suleyman!
Oh, was there ever King like him, who, over earth and hell,
Could make his power felt, and yet be loved so long and well?
Now let my strings be vocal, and resound in every chord
The praises of great S ULEYMAN , the matchless Hebrew Lord!
At this, th' excited wretch
Was wrought to such a pitch,
He sprang aloft and led a fiendish dance;
The Arabs joined apace,
And for a little space
It seemed my Legend would no more advance.
They circled round and round,
They spurned the very ground,
They danced lascivious measures at my feet,
Till, weary, faint and sore,
The bard returned once more,
And thus his ancient story did complete:

As Bethel told to Sion of the Monarch who had died,
The body guards of Solomon were buckled for the fide,
Five thousand shining cavaliers, in military pride,
Ten score and seven chariots, in silk and gold arrayed,
And twice twelve thousand footmen, armed with Hebrew spear and blade.
The horses neighed, the lances flashed beneath the starry dome,
And the procession answered to the message that had come.

Up Scopus rode they, as Low Twelve struck the attentive ear;
Up Ebal , when on Gilead the sunrise did appear;
By nine at Nazareth they drank, that thirsty morn of June,
And through the portals of old Tyre they entered at High Noon!
Oh, was there ever such a ride, since horsemanship began?
And was there ever as our guest so great and good a man?
And who of all the sons of earth so liberal and free
As this our Hakeem , who will give good Backskeesh unto me?

The Legend thus was done;
The begging then begun.
My ears were deafened with the horrid yell;
I fled the crowd, aghast,
But ere I went to rest
Wrote down the narrative which now I tell.